


Finding rest amidst the storm

by Black_Dawn, CrushedRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Sherrinford, Caring Greg Lestrade, Greg to keep him company, M/M, Mycroft in hospital, Mystrade Monday Prompts, Season 4 Episode 3, do not post on other sites, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Dawn/pseuds/Black_Dawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushedRose/pseuds/CrushedRose
Summary: Mystrade Monday Prompt :  "Please stay with me"Do not post on other sites.Sherlock s.4 ep.3from the script:LESTRADE: I just spoke to your brother.SHERLOCK (as he and John turn to him): How is he?LESTRADE: He’s a bit shaken up, that’s all. She didn’t hurt him; she just locked him in her old cell.JOHN: What goes around comes around.LESTRADE: Yeah. Give me a moment, boys.(He starts to walk past them but turns back when Sherlock speaks quietly.)SHERLOCK: Oh, um. Mycroft – make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.LESTRADE (nodding): Yeah, I’ll take care of it.script  from : arianadevere.livejournal.com
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Finding rest amidst the storm

**Author's Note:**

> We don't own Sherlock in any capacity or form.

Mycroft stared at the wall from where the sirens originated. It is loud, repetitive and annoying. It started as soft noise in the distance, growing louder and louder then stops mid beat. 

A few seconds of silence.

Repeat.

A never ending cycle through the night.

Mycroft closed his eyes and counted until it started again. 

one...two...three...four...five...Weeeeehhhhh. The wailing started again. 

Pulling the blanket closer, Mycroft tried to block it out. How on earth was he supposed to _rest?_ With this constant wailing and yelping of sirens, people running around, noise infiltrating every wall and nook?

It’s not as if home was much better. Oh no….

There, it was the knowing of what happened, of his little brothers’ _prank_ . He will certainly not be able to rest there. Firstly, the security is compromised. Secondly, the paintings. Thirdy, the wooden walls...fourthly…. 

“Stops.” He whispered to himself. Stop thinking about it. 

He knew one thing for certain, he would not return to that house, and he would certainly not give Sherlock his new address… or Doctor John H. Watson.

He looked around the small room, it was bare, sterile and so… so...basic. The idea is for him to ‘rest’. To have some time for himself, however, he knew. it’s a glorified jail. 24 hours observation. A change to regroup…a public hospital...

The thing is, he tried. He really tried. He can’t fall asleep, he can’t get to a point where he can close his eyes and just let go. The memories of the last few days keep him awake, despite the meds they gave him. Anthea took his laptop, phone, and any other device that could ‘distract’ him. There is no telly, no radio, nothing. The IV line is giving him some meds, hydration, vitamins and whatever is needed to help, but it isn’t doing anything.

He is allowed company, but that is the joke of it all. He can’t think of a person whose presence would actually have a positive impact. He has no one. Certainly not his family… they are the cause of his trauma, the reason he is here. Colleagues?..... Hah… no…

There is…One man…

But no…

He can’t. 

He shouldn’t hope. Person like that isn't for him. Oil and water don’t mix, unless it is inside some lava lamp, which he is not. 

Mycroft is shaken out of his thoughts as the door opens. He hears the voice before he sees the man. His heart beats faster, and suddenly, it is difficult to breathe. He can only watch in wonder and surprise as the man makes his way over to him, sitting on the chair next to the bed. 

“How are you Mycroft?”

“I’m quite....I’ve been better Gregory. Thank you for asking.” Mycroft finishes, he wants to lie, he wants to say he is perfectly fine, but can’t. Maybe it’s the trauma like they claimed, maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe, it is that look in the brown eyes of Gregory that has kept the lie away.

“Thought so. Thought you might need some company, I can leave if you want…”

“No!” Mycroft cries out, and would blush if he could. He is still too pale.

“I mean, please...stay...with me... just for a few minutes…” 

“I can do that.” Greg replies, he hasn’t even made an attempt to rise, instead, he settles back in the chair, getting more comfortable.

“What are you thinking, or are you just in sort of limbo mode…?” Greg asks 

“Limbo...I think. I don’t really want to be here, but I see the reason behind the method. I don’t really want to go home, and I don’t really want to do anything. I’m supposed to rest, but can you sleep with this constant noise?” Mycroft asks, his hand waving around him. He is still wrapped in the blanket, and to Greg, that says everything about Mycroft's state of mind. That he doesn’t even bother to be presentable, or shows any signs that his appearance and slouching is of any concern to him. Like it hasn't even registered yet. 

“Maybe I can help. I can read to you… I downloaded an e-book reader, let’s see how it works, shall we?” 

“I prefer paper.” 

“Me too, but I do find it convenient on the phone.” Greg replies and almost smiles seeing the look on Mycroft’s face, so close to a pout. Mycroft narrows his eyes slightly and looks at the phone. 

“What books are there? I possibly read them all.” 

“Well….” Greg starts and opens his phone to the app. We can buy a lot of the books, but the pre-select ones that are free are… oh the classics, so Mary’s Shelley’s Frankenstein, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1984, Catcher in the rye, Great expectations or Moby Dick….?”

“I’ve read them.” 

“Well, which one would you like to hear again?” 

“Not dystopian fictions, too much truth these days… Jane Austen is wonderful, but not today.... I always had a soft spot for the monster, I don’t think he was one.” 

“No, he wasn’t. His creator - Frankenstein was.”

“Some days I think I am Frankenstein.” 

“You’re not. Trust me. And I will prove it with the book. Shall we begin?”

“Are you allowed to be here? Mycroft asks, anxiously looking around as if Greg will disappear or be thrown out. 

“Yeah, talked it over with the nurse at the desk, I can stay if I’m on my best behaviour, have to use my badge… but it’s fine. Coppers and hospitals build up some rapport over the years. Mycroft visibly relaxed. Greg puts on his glasses. 

“We'll start with the letters….

_Letter 1_

_To Mrs. Saville, England._

_St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—._

_You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings……._

When Greg reaches chapter three Mycroft is fast asleep _._


End file.
